Page 29 of Unholy Nights

"You won't be discussing anything with her," I interject smoothly, letting my lawyer's smile spread across my face. "Emerald's role will be purely ceremonial. A figurehead, nothing more."

Emmitt's eyes narrow, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Is that so? And what gives you the right to make that decision? Last I checked, you were just the husband, not the parent."

The raw fucking audacity of this pathetic excuse for a man thinking he has any say over what's mine makes my vision go red around the edges. Every predatory instinct I possess screams at me to show him exactly what kind of "husband" I am, to make him understand with broken bones and blood exactly who Emerald belongs to.

But then I feel it, Emerald's small hand on my arm, her touch searing through my jacket. The urge to protect her wars withmy need to destroy the threat in front of us. I take a measured breath, letting cold calculation replace hot rage.

"Let me explain something, Emmitt," I say, each word precise as a bullet. "What I am to her isn't your concern. What is your concern is understanding that if you so much as breathe in her direction again, they'll never find all the pieces."

Emmitt leans back in his chair, a slow, calculating smile spreading across his face. "So protective of your stepdaughter, aren't you, Astor? I wonder what Madeline would think about just how... invested you are in Emerald's welfare."

The implication in his words makes something lethal unfurl in my chest. I rise slowly from my chair, savoring the flicker of uncertainty that crosses his face as I plant my hands on his desk and lean in close.

"You'll handle the auction yourself," I say, my voice soft but razor-sharp. "And you'll tell Madeline that Emerald was absolutely perfect, everything you hoped for. Because if you don't, if you breathe one word about anything else..." I let the threat hang between us, watching his throat work as he swallows.

"Are you threatening me?" He tries to sound confident, but I catch the tremor in his voice. "Maybe I should tell Madeline exactly how her husband looks at her daughter. How he touches her."

I smile then, letting him see exactly why the Savage Six trust me to handle their dirtiest work. "By all means, tell her. But ask yourself this—do you really think you'll survive what comes after?"

The color drains from his face as the reality of his situation finally sinks in. He's not just playing with fire anymore—he's standing in gasoline and I'm holding the match.

"Now," I say, straightening up, "we're done here. Emerald?"

She stands quickly, and I place my hand on her lower back, letting my thumb sneak up under her sweatshirt so it brushes against her skin while I guide her toward the door. The contact grounds me, reminds me why I can't simply end this piece of shit right here.

“This isn’t over,” Emmitt calls after us, his composure finally shattering to reveal the desperate little man beneath.

I pause at the threshold, turning back just enough to let him see the promise of violence in my eyes. "Keep pushing, Emmitt. I'd love to show you how this ends."

With that,I steer Emerald out of the office, my hand never leaving her back as we make our way to the elevator. The moment the doors slide shut, something inside me snaps. I pull her against me, crushing her small frame to my chest, finally—fucking finally—feeling her entire body pressed against mine. Having her in my arms feels like drowning and breathing for the first time all at once—everything I've denied myself for two endless years. It’s different than night in her room because she’s hugging me back just as hard.

For the first time, she's choosing this—choosing me—and the victory tastes better than any I've stolen in the night.

She fits perfectly in my arms, her head tucking just under my chin, every inch of her pressed against me confirming what I've known since that first night—she was made for me.

That intoxicating sweet scent that haunts my dreams—sugar cookies and pure fucking innocence—rocks through me as she shakes in my arms, and I have to bite back a groan when her fingers curl into my jacket, holding on like I'm the only thing keeping her standing. My cock hardens at how she surrenders to this, at how desperately she needs me.

"You did so well, little one," I murmur into her hair, not ready to let her go. "Though I doubt he'll be stupid enough to try that again."

She looks up at me, those green eyes full of questions she's not sure she should ask. "The way you looked at him... I've never seen anyone look that scared before."

I cup her face in my hands, my thumbs stroking her cheeks. "Men like Emmitt only understand one language—power. And now he knows exactly who holds it."

She bites that bottom lip, and for a moment I forget we're in public, forget everything except how badly I want to taste her. "He was going to tell my mother about... about how you..." She trails off, unable to voice what's building between us.

"Let him try," I say, my voice dark with promise. "I meant what I said in there—I'll handle everything. Including Emmitt."

The elevator doors open, and I guide her through the lobby and out to the car. As I open her door, she hesitates, her hand on my arm.

"Cohen?" Her voice is soft but steadier now. "No one's ever... I mean, you're the only one who's ever stood up for me like that."

The trust in her eyes makes possession roar through my veins. Everything is falling into place exactly as I planned.

I brush my knuckles along her cheek, savoring the way she leans into my touch. "You never have to thank me, little one. Now get in. We're not going home just yet."

Her brows furrow in confusion. "We're not?"

"It's Christmastime," I say, letting a rare smile slip free. "And you deserve to experience it without someone orchestrating every fucking breath you take."

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